


Grimoire

by BRibbon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon Lesbian Character, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, LGBTQ Character, Lesbian Character, M/M, Original Fiction, Other, Trans Character, Victorian, Witch Curses, Witch Hunters, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BRibbon/pseuds/BRibbon
Summary: This will also be posted on Royal RoadsDarkness. Ever present, sweeping over the seas and skies. An ignorance to the world and it's wonder and mysteries. Secrets kept, minds closed. Deep, ugly, unyielding darkness.And then. . .A glimmer of light.There is no mystery behind truth, at least, that is what Gil believes. That is until his master and long time friend Lord Warren Salphus sends him to collect a particularly special book for his collection. Upon learning the contents inside the seemingly unimposing book Gil's world is flipped on it's head as he's forced to enter the gates behind the fog and fight for the chance to live and learn the real truths behind the world





	1. Chapter 1: Match

Chapter 1:

The Match.

It was cold, and not just that regular chill that slipped through stone walls of and called for lit fireplaces or a sweater to be worn while you went about your day. It was a type of cold that cut through the clothes and grabbed the bones in an attempt to slip a slight tinge of what death might feel like under the skin. It was the type of cold people talked about over their tea and coffee in parlors along side conversations of the governor's latest quiet woman or chats about neighboring state's relationships going awry. It was cold that somehow made itself news, as if it were a foreign dignitary that had descended, unwontedly, upon the sweet and unsuspecting region of Kars

.

It was totally and utterly unnatural.

As young Gil walked through the snowy streets towards the import store the cold was all he overheard the people in the streets chattering about. Nothing more interesting had left a single person's mouth since he had left to retrieve the books from Saint Wilshest's Imports, books that the young Lord had ordered from a sketchy seller on the continent across the sea.

He agreed, at least to some point, that the cold was worth talking about but not so much so that he believed it needed to head the newspapers and be called in the town center like a crier in some dramatic comedy.

A chill swept swiftly down the street guided by the walls of the buildings, rushing past the young man's body like a pack of wild dogs. He shuttered, grumbled, and pulled the fur lined cape closer to his body. He turned down an ally between a small bakery known for its rum bread and a florist shop that appeared to be out of business. Snow crunched between his boots and the cobble stone as he made his way towards the dimly lit and somewhat disheveled looking building at the far end of the lane.

A bell jiggled in the shop as the heavy oak door was pushed open. Wind and snow tried to force its way in with Gil but the young man put his whole weight into the door to force it closed behind him. With a heavy thud the latch closed between the outside and the warm, if somewhat dusty haven of escape.

"It's as if the sun itself turned her back on us today!"

The rattled old voice bounced the best it could off the walls of the shop, muffled by stacks of parcels and lines of books. From behind a tower of paper wrappings shuffled an elderly man. He hobbled to the counter between the door and the towering city of stacked packages that made up the rest of the small store.

"That's what people are saying," Gil responded, shaking the snow from his cloak and hanging it on the rack by the door. He slipped off the leather gloves and tucked them into his pocket. He turned to face the man again as he dusted off the blue velvet of his suit jacket. "You've foregone your cane again," he commented, watching the old man shuffle, unaided, to his seat behind the counter.

The old shop-keeps unsteady walk, coupled with the unkempt hair and tattered wool suit would leave you to believe he might sleep above the shop, but a person who believed that would be easily swindled out of coin by the frail disposition of what was otherwise a perfectly sound and wealthy man. Despite his appearance, he had just as much coin lining his pockets as he had rickarack lining the walls.

"Cane's are for the elderly," He responded, motioning over the young gentleman. "Would you care for a cup of tea? I've had it brought all the way from the Green Isles," He reached to the gold leaf pot from the edge of the counter and poured him some of the light pink drink without concerning himself with the answer.

Gil knew better then to pay the elderly gentleman any mind at this point. After so many errands on his master's behalf he'd gotten to know the self proclaimed collector and procurer quite well. There was a sort of quaint eccentricity you learned to ignore. He took the cup of tea to warm his hands at the very least.

"So Lord Salphus has sent you on a mission in this weather? You must be quite the respectable retainer, Gilbert," The keep said, lifting the cup to his lips with shaky hands.

 

Gil shrugged a bit, turning the cup in his hands. The liquid was pungent and he was reluctant to try it. "My Lord's whims get the best of him when it comes to books. If I were to let the order pile up simply because the weather was a bit unpleasant I'd need a cart to bring them back with me come thaw."

"You're a strong lad to consider this hellish storm just 'unpleasant'," he retorted.

Gill shrugged yet again, as was accustomed to the apathy of boys his age. He could feel elderly eyes on his cup, taking note of the fact he hadn't tried it yet. To keep from offending Gil lifted the cup to his lips, held his breath, took a sip, and nearly gagged.

Despite that a wry smile came to the shopkeepers thin lips and he seemed satisfied with the attempt. "Well let's go see what it is he ordered this time."

The two rose from their seats, walking behind the counter and down one of the small halls created by the piled procurements. There didn't seem to be much of a rhyme or reason to the manner in which they were ordered and yet somehow the old shopkeeper knew what each wrapped box was without having to take a look.

"Let's see here....let's see..." He muttered to himself as he scanned each of the parcels, looking for the order. "Ahh yes...that's right," He took a sharp turn around a corner almost losing his tagalong. Gil wasn't quite sure how he moved so swiftly for a man in such need of a cane.

"You should tell young Lord Salphus that he's quite lucky with this one. The package had to change hands three times to get here. With the weather so bad none of the delivery services wanted to bring it in. You can't take a horse out in this much snow after all, and the delivery fees aren't worth a few frozen toes," He said, reaching up on top of a stack in dark corner near the back door. "But it found its way here nonetheless," He said, taking the paper protected book and offering it to the Lord's servant."Here you go, keep that one safe. The Lord got his money's worth with that one," he said.

Gilbert took the package, turning it over in his hands. It didn't look like anything special to him, but then again it might not have been. Warren had an odd taste when it came to literature, and Gil had picked up all sorts of books for him before, both prized first editions and tattered throw aways. It wasn't his place to question or, more precisely, he wouldn't have gotten an answer if he did. Warren always claimed that these items were treasures worthy of his library no matter what condition it was in.

After having retrieved the book the pair walked back to the front of the shop. Gil collected his coat and gloves, donning the fur lined cloak and leather gloves once more. Bidding farewell to the shopkeeper the young man headed back out into the dark, snowy streets of the city, clutching the book and the edges of his cloak to his chest.

~______~

The kitchen door of Cedarwake Manor seemed miles away from the gate by the time Gil made it back to the estate. He was half frozen and completely worn out from the task and just yearned for the safety of the mansion.

It was quiet when he arrived. No Men and women conducting the business of the state, no servants bustling to keep the household moving, no cooks scurrying about the kitchen to prepare dinner. Then again, with the Governor and most of his faculty gone, the only people that needed feeding were himself and the Governor's son, Lord Warren Salphus. With the weather only getting worse as the day sank into night Gil could only guess that Warren had sent the staff home to their families. Several of the servants lived at the Manor, himself included, but the young cook and most of the maids were not counted amongst them.

Gil pulled the cloak from his shoulders and placed it, absentmindedly, on the empty countertop and tossed his gloves to the side with the ease only someone who had grown up in the house and was used to being chastised by the housekeeper could.

Out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and into the grand foyer, Gil moved with the blind grace of a boy who had been running the halls since he was strong enough to discover his legs could be used to get him into trouble. His Mother had been an aid of Governor Salphus, and his father was a lawman from a neighboring state. While he hadn't always lived in the Cedarwake Manor, he was only a few years Warren's Junior so they had been assigned playmates when he was still very young.

Gil climbed the grand staircase that flowed from the second floor down to the entranceway like some sort of stained wood and red carpeting waterfall. The stairs were solid, well made and expensive like everything else in the manor. Gold paint trimmed the delicate details of the handrail, small flowers bloomed softly in the oak. He turned his eyes from the blood-colored floor to the top of the stairs. Most of the doors were closed. He could hear rummaging behind the large set of double doors at the end of the hall that lead to Governor Salphus's room and study. The housekeeper and the Stewart who lived on premise must've been taking the Governor's absence to get deep cleaning done.

At the other end of the hall, a cracked door let out the light flicker of light and the soft smell of burning wood. Cresting the staircase, the retainer walked towards the beckoning light and into the young Lord's private library, and what a library it was. Bookcase lined the room from floor to ceiling leaving only room for the windows and doors. The shelves were brimming with all manner of literature, from informative texts on nature and medicine to the brave tales of fantastical adventures, to the musings of philosophers and poets. Warren Salphus had an insatiable appetite for the written word and spent nearly all of his free time in this room. His father often worried he spent too much time caressing the spine of a book and not that of a future wife.

The door creaked it's welcome as Gil entered, smiling a bit at the familiarity of the scene. Amongst the piles of pages and the soft glow of the fireplace as the young lord of Cedarwake Manor. A bright-eyed young man in his early to mid-twenties, tall with the build of someone who played sport more often than he did and blond hair that often fell out of its tie and into his face. Gil had always thought of him as handsome, though he had never really put much thought into whether that was his own opinion or if he was just nodding along with the coos of the housekeeper and maids.

"I should keep this stupid text for the pain I had to endure to obtain it," Gil announced loudly, an attempt to rouse Warren's attention. He pulled the book from underneath his arm and walked towards his friend, presenting him with the absolutely ordinary brown paper package.

Warren's head shot up and he locked eyes with Gil for just a moment. His seemed to sparkle with more anticipation then they did over the last bundle of tales he had brought back. Whatever was in here must've been more exciting than the compiled histories of Ocular fungal Meningilia.

"Gil Greaves you are a hero amongst men!" He proclaimed as he leapt from his seat and took the book that was offered to him. He swiftly strode to the door, closing it and locking it. The key was in the breast pocket of his silk vest before Gil even had a moment to register the fact that Warren had locked a door he'd never seen a key to.

"I'd like to know just what it is that is in there that young made me go out in that forsaken snow storm for," Gil asked, following Warren over to his desk at the far end of the room. Perhaps it was a particularly expensive first edition after all the shopkeeper had seemed to mention this parcel was special compared to the others. Even if it was expensive he was quite certain that the maids would nick the silverware or the gold-hilted sconces before she nicked a book.

"Come here Gil, and keep your voice low," He said, ushering his companion to his side. "This, my friend, is the finest piece my collection will ever see," He said softly, untying the string that wrapped the package with the same sort of delicacy Gil imagined one might untie the laces of a lady's corset. He noted that Warren's hands were trembling, which just caused a moment of confusion to flood his mind. However, the confusion for the trembling was quickly replaced with confusion for what was in the package.

As the parchment was peeled back all that was unveiled was the plain cover of a completely humdrum, run-of-the-mill leather bound journal. The leather didn't even seem particularly exceptional. It was beaten brown bindings just like you might find in the bag of anyone who was walking about the streets.

Gil began to wonder if Warren understood that there was nothing particularly interesting about the book in his hands. He cocked his head a bit in an attempt to catch Warren's eye, but it didn't work. The young Lord was captivated by the book.

"What's so extraordinary about this? It just looks like your average day Journal," Gil said, going to grab the book from him but, the tease was stopped before it could even begin.

Warren snatched Gil's wrist before his fingers had a chance to brush the cover of the book. Gil was a little caught off guard with the suddenness and severity of being grabbed like that.

"You don't understand," Warren pushed, slipping his grasp from Gil's wrist to his hand. He pulled the two of them farther from the door, practically against one of the shelves as he opened the opened the book.

The pages looked like they were adorned with handwritten scribbles, illegible to even a well-versed scholar, or at least Gil had to assume. "I don't understand, what language is that? Is it from the Green Isles? Irmous?" he asked. He knew that Warren had learned to read in several languages, one or two even that wasn't common to their continent, but this didn't even look like it could have been from the Far Western Mountain Region.

"No, it's much rarer than that! So rare only a handful in the world know how to read and interpret it. No, these writings are more than just a language. These writings speak the mysteries and the truths of our world. It's the breaths of the trees and the songs of the bird and the great roars of the ocean. No, my dear friend. This is not just a language. This....is a book written in Theban," he said.

Gil felt the chill pierce his flesh again as the word cut through him like the wind outside. He shivered, looking down at the book again. Theban. . . The language of the forbidden. Gil felt his heartbeat in his ears and his blood fall to his feet as if it too were trying to escape the reality of what he'd just heard. "T-theban?" he repeated out loud.

"Theban! The language of the Wit-"

Warren yanked Gil close to him and clasped a hand tightly over Gil's mouth, muffling the shout from him. There was a moment where Gil was pressed so tightly to the young Lord's chest he could feel him hold his breath. His own heart pounded in his ear. Once, twice, three times. Long beats like a drum at the climax of a play, announcing the coming danger for the heroes.

Luckily, that Danger never came. The housekeeper and Stewart were too far down the hall to hear Gil's surprised shouts. It was for the best too, the young men's fear did not come unwarranted. Possessing books written in Theban was a capital offense. It was a crime not even the son of the state's governor could escape.

Warren finally loosened his grip on Gil but had to quickly find his hold again when he felt his companion slip towards the ground instead of regaining his composure on his own two feet.

"Do not lose track of your voice again. A manor home is known for the attentiveness of its caretakers," Warren warned, though he kept his arm around Gil's waist to keep him from collapsing.

Gil stared at him, open-mouthed for a moment. In all the years of his life, he would've never thought that this man with such a bookish disposition would do something as stupid, as foolishly reckless, as seek out text like this. He had never guessed that there would be danger in the hobby of book collecting.

"Warren. . ." His voice was still shaky. "You know what that is. . . it's a spell book, the personal writings of a Witch! Forbidden knowledge! You're treading on the grounds of the divine!" he exclaimed in as soft a whisper as he could muster at this point.

"Listen to yourself Gil, forbidden knowledge? The divine?" He scoffed, flipping through a few pages of the journal. "There should be no such thing as forbidden knowledge. If Cors is so divine and powerful do you really think that he'd just allow us to discover truths we shouldn't be able to learn? Don't you think he'd strike down those reckless fools instead of letting them write it down in a book?" he asked.

"You're the reckless fool!" Gil snapped again. "What you're saying is blasphemy, and what you're holding is taboo!"

He took his Master's hands as they held the book. "Please, you still have a chance, throw it into the fireplace, no one will ever know that you had it. Please!" He begged. Warren's grip tightened around the book, and his gaze grew more steely than Gil could ever remember seeing it.

"Gilbert."

His full name sounded as foreign as the writings of that book when it was spoken by Warren.

"You have a choice before you it seems," Warren said. He'd never sounded so much like a Lord when he spoke to him in private.

The choice didn't need to be said aloud. Gil knew what he meant. By confessing the existence of the book, Gil risked sentencing Warren to the hangman's noose for heresy. By keeping quiet Gil made himself an accomplice to his Master's explorations into the forbidden. There would be no leniency for a man's servant who willingly turned a blind eye to the defiance of the Divine.

Gil felt his heart beat in his chest like a drum. Once, twice, three times.

He took a few steps back before sinking into the couch behind him, wishing he could fold up and disappear between its cracks. "At least....tell me what it says. That way I can not blame you if I am punished for these trespasses. If I hold those forbidden words as well then these transgressions are mine as well," He said, his eyes locked on the floor beneath is feet. The carpet swirled and swayed like the waves of a pond after a rock is chucked unceremoniously into its waters.

Those waters were interrupted as his gaze was lifted to meet Warren's. He smiled at him, comfortingly, a warmth that felt misguided and out of place in the turmoil of the moment. Warren began to read. He gave Gil no moment to ponder how it was he knew the words of a language he had no right to speak.

"To those who turn, in this moment of lost hope, to the heavens for the answers to the troubled fate that has mounted against them. Do not beseech those who do not have ears to listen for help to guide you through the dense forest and the troubled ocean, but look amongst these pages for the songs of the trees and the waves. For only through understanding how each breath of the earth stirs each strike of lightning will you learn the language of the sky and the sea. Then, and only then, with the knowledge of the very existence of life will you be able to move through the darkness with absolute certainty.

This is the Grimoire of Edwina Eudora Rowena Rose. My this book be your match with which you create your spark."


	2. Kindling

Chapter 2:  
Kindling

Gil sat sideways in the plush chair, his legs kicked up on the arm, ankles crossed over each other as he leaned back to examine the pattern of the paint swirls on the ceiling.

“You should throw a Garden Party, “ He said, turning his gaze from the ceiling to his friend. For the past few weeks Warren had spent every waking moment he had (and a few he didn’t) pouring over that Journal. He took meticulous notes, muttered to himself frequently, and over all was turning himself into a proper shut in.

“It’s still too cold for a garden party, not to mention nothing’s bloomed yet. It would just be a lot of people dressed up nice to stand in the cold amongst some dead trees,” He retorted. His eyes never left the paper.

“Well, hold it in the parlor,” Gil responded.

“Then it wouldn’t be a garden party.”

Gil frowned a little, swinging his feet forward and righting himself in the arm chair. He stood up, walking over to Warren and placing his hands on his shoulders as he looked over him to the notes he was taking. Something about the flow of water moving with the breath. Warren frequently tried to explain what he learned to him, but it was like a scholar speaking to an adolescent. Everything was just a little too dense to be comprehended. Even though the words were in the common tongue he might as well be transforming Theban into a spoken language. Warren, however, seemed to be soaking it in like it were as natural as a chat over lunch. He was almost jealous of it. Gil was holding all of the risk without reaping any of the reward.

“Warren, people are starting to talk. You’re spending too much time in here. You’ve shirked your duties, you’re not going to any social events, Your other friends are starting to suspect you’ve gone mad,” He said. “Which I suppose would be preferable to the truth,” He added, letting his hands slide to the side and sitting against the edge of the writing desk.

Warren finally set down his pen, turning in the chair to face Gil. The younger man could tell that Warren was looking for a sort of retort in an attempt to give himself a proper opportunity to prove that he had not, in fact, holed himself up to focus on the Shadow sciences, but the more he searched the for one the harder it came to deny the truth. People were going to become suspicious.

“I suppose I could feign a slight illness” he said, finally closing the journal. Gil felt like someone had picked a sack of flour off his his chest and he could breathe a little easier. A small smile came to his lips. 

“It wouldn’t be improbable. After that storm quite a few people found themselves in bed with a chill,” Gil mused, leaning forward a bit to watch Warren collect his notes. His hands seemed paler after all, though his servant knew the ghosting of his skin was more likely do to his new found habit to forgo supper and sleep in favor of this unhealthy study. 

“Then, with that settled, the next step would be to find a party where I could make my wonderful and miraculous recovery from the clutches of death!” He laughed, leaning backwards and holding his hand to his forehead in a feign. “For I was too young and too charming for death to whisk away from this world. The heaven’s, in all their glory, saw it fit for my presence to grace these good people for just a while longer,” he mocked in lament. 

If Gil had rolled his eyes any harder he might have pulled a muscle. “My world would be a right bit less stressful if you had actually been in bed ill,” he snipped, standing up so that Warren could collect the rest of his notes. 

A chuckle escaped him as he slipped the journal and the notes beneath the false bottom of his desk drawer and locked it, slipping the key into it’s comfortable resting place inside his breast pocket. The spot where a normal man might keep a handkerchief or a pocket watch instead of the key to what could be his death in writing. 

“Come then, I suppose I should make myself known again, lest my father fear I’ve disappeared to the forest to live the life of a hermit.”

Warren seized the coat that hung on the back of his chair, slipping it on with a smooth flick and giving it a soft tug into place. Fingers ran through his hair to brush it from his face and, only haphazardly, back against his head where it belong. Gil watched him lazily. It was a motion that he had done for many a year, probably to the point where Warren wasn’t aware he did it. Though as his slender hands pushed the hair from his face something caught Gil’s eye. Right on his neck, bellow his jaw, was a small mark that he had never noticed before. A small beauty mark. Was Gil simply paying his Master’s neck more mind then he had before. . . Or had that mark always been there?

The two men found their ways out of the library. The sun shining through the picture windows and illuminating the house almost seemed alien after so many long days in the library with the curtains drawn. Light flickered and bounced off the glass vases set on small green and gold stands scattered along the hall, casting flickering outlines of the winter flowers and the water in which they sat. 

With long, confident strides Warren made his way down the hall and to the foyer. The great chandelier that hung from the ceiling glistened like the snow that still lightly dusted the lawn outside the windows. Young maids and house men scurried about tidying and dusting for the turning of the seasons that would be happening soon. 

Unfortunately, the thoughts were cut short once they rounded the corner to the top of the stairs and caught glimpse of the housekeeper speaking to a group of men in the hall. None of them looked familiar. They weren’t local, that was for sure. Most of them were scruffy, unkempt men. Definitely too rough to be from the Region of Kar. Their state was wealthy, and even those who were not fortunate enough to live in the laps of velvet and gold still weren’t generally this brutish type.

In front of the mottly lot stood several far more distinguishable men. The simple white and yellow robes, slicked hair, and small sun pendants that hang from their necks spoke of their origins. These were men of the Temple, priests perhaps. Wait. . . Priests!

Gil’s eyes shot to Warren as he felt his breath quicken in a coming panic. He tried to calm himself but no matter how hard he tried the air refused to refresh his lungs. He found the young Lord’s arm, squeezing harder than he had intended too. Warren, how ever, did not seem to blink. He held his head high with the dignity of an official of his stature. “Calm yourself, This is not unusual. Members of the Temple visit from time to time. This is routine,” He affirmed. Gil’s nerves were not quelled. The Housekeeper, who was generally a pleasant if not mildly over attentive woman, seemed flustered by the sudden appearance of the mismatched group. They had not announced themselves, they had just shown up. This could not be good.

Warren strode forward, and descended the staircase, Gil on his coattails. 

“Gentlemen, is there some way I might be of assistance,” He inquired in a steady voice that’s baratons carried themselves easily across the wooden floors. As if someone had given them a countdown, all the men’s attention turned up to the young Lord Salphus in what almost seemed a practiced pace. 

“Please forgive Miss Windsworth, she’s not fond of unannounced guests, especially not on a day when there is so much cleaning and rearranging being done for the spring.” Warren was letting them know that he was aware they were uninvited. An unfortunate slight on what was otherwise a relatively good natured young man.

From the gaggle of priests one separated himself. He was average in every manner of the word. Heigh, weight, features. Hair and eyes all a dusty, unintrusive brown. If asked the number of people in a crowd, a person might not even remember to count him. “Are you Governor Salphus?” he inquired, inspecting Warren as he found his way down the stairs and to the entrance hall. Gil stayed three steps from the bottom.

“I am his son, activating assistant Governor, Warren Salphus,” he asserted in response. Once again the average priests eyes assessed the man before him. A mouse would’ve had an easier time intimidating a mountain. 

After a moment of locked presences the man who seemed to be speaking on behalf of the group extended his hand and relaxed his posture. “I do apologize for the sudden intrusion, but it is normally expected that we make ourselves known upon entering a city. We are the here on behalf of the central Temple of Cors, In Kingswallow.” 

 

“Kingswallow you say,” Lord Salphus repeated with what could only be described as complete and utter unamusement. He reached out, shaking the priests hand. An absolutely forgettable handshake.

Gil watched the two from a few paces back. His heart felt as though it was going to leave his chest to rest on the outside of his coat along side the silver chain of his watch. His palms felt sweaty and the tie of his silk cravat felt all to0 close to what he imagined a noose would. Yet somehow Warren hadn’t flinched in the presence of the few people in the city how could have his life with no trial. One day he was going to make an absolutely magnificent governor.

After a moment of pleasantries Lord Salphus brought the conversation to the focus of what everyone in the manor was really wondering. What had stirred the presence of the Temple in Kar.

“Now if I may,” Warren said with an abrupt transition aware from the floral oil painting that hung on the wall to their left. “Not that I am upset with the presence of the fine men of Cors flock, but what spurs the sudden appearance of the clergy in our fair state?” He asked.

“Ahh yes, the matter at hand,” the ordinary priest said, once again speaking for the group. “We are sent here on the information of what could possibly be the forbidden arts at play.”

Warren wrinkled his brow as if he had no idea what they could have possibly been insinuating. “Forbidden arts? Forgive me Sir but I must say I’m not as well versed in the vernacular of the Temple as I fear I should be.”

“We are here on the rumor that there may be those who defy the privileges of the gods amongst your cities people.”

“Defy holy privilege? Sir, are you trying to tell me you have cause to believe that there are witches in my city?!” His voice grew a bit, anger touching softly at the edge of the words as his act shifted his posture.

“I understand your Ire Lord Salphus, but do not fret. Witches are daring creatures with the will and the gall to tread the path meant only for god,” he nodded along.

“What rumors have you heard then? What brings you to the city?” Warren asked, though his tone spoke more of a demand, as any leader of state would. It was the safety of his citizens at risk if there were others willfully abandoning their morals in favor of a sense of superior knowledge.

“A storm, a few weeks back. Im sure you recall.” How could you not, it was all the city spoke of for a fortnight. “An unnatural storm we are lead to believe was the guile of a Coven, a gathering of witches,” the priest explained. 

The surprise on Lord Salphus’s face was quite genuine now. “The storm?” he asked. “How is it possible that a single human could have created such a powerful act of nature, and why? To what avail?” he asked.  
“No, not a single. No single witch is strong enough to move the clouds and the wind like that. A coven, however. A Coven, well trained and willing enough, could wretch the reigns of such a storm from heaven and steer it to their will. For what reasons though, we do not know. That is why we are here,” The priest explained. “We will cause your people no unrest, we promise, we will just conduct our investigation to see if this coven lives within the borders of your lovely state.”

Warren couldn’t deny them. The Temple acted outside of jurisdiction of any single governor and on this continent could go, quite frankly, anywhere they pleased. This introduction was for Governor Salphus’s sake, not their own. They expected not only free passage to move about the city, but pleasantries and cooperation as well. Warren had to agree.

“Then I have no choice but to allow your investigation access to Kar, Sir,” Warren relented. 

“Please, call me Rudolph,” he said, extending his hand once again to the assistant Governor of the region. “I look forward to our time together, and I will pray that these smug creetins have left your city and state in peace.”

Warren once again grasped his hand for a shake. This time the unremarkableness of it brought a bit of sweat to the nape of his neck. Now Warren understood why someone so unimpressive was leading this group of inquisitors. A man this forgettable was dangerous when he was forgotten.


	3. Lemon Cake

“Witches!”

The Governor of Kar was a stout man in his mid-forties. Broad shoulders, strong build, hair that may have been grey now but was thick enough that he still needed to tie it back at the base of his neck like younger men did. He had a temper, though not with the citizens. No good governor kept his position by being hard to handle or difficult to reach. In the manor, however, he forwent his otherwise logical demeanor to let his every feeling and thought fly through the house like a plate whipped across the hall by an angry dish-maid.

“Some no name, bleach collared bastard has the nerve to prance into my city like the goddamn pied piper of the Temple and accuse us of harboring Witches!”

He slammed a now emptied crystal whiskey tumbler to the table in front of him. The colorful dinner conversation roused reactions from neither his son nor Gil. Governor Benedict Salphus could bolster himself with just about as much hot air as a weatherman could a surveying balloon, and his anger wasn’t directed at them.

“He didn’t use those words, Father,” Warren said, sticking a small, roasted potato with the end of his fork.

“He didn’t have to say those words! We all know he sure as hell meant them!” He thundered. A particularly startled maid shuffled into the room to place a fresh decanter on the table for the men. “Thank you, Love,” He grumbled over the sound of his own bellyaching. Gil always felt bad for them when they were new. The Housekeeper and the Stewart were too concerned with their job to warn them that, in most cases, the Governor was just about as dangerous as a hungry house cat to his own people.

“They’ll move on as soon as they discover there’s nothing to warrant their time or money here,” Warren assured his father. 

“Unless they are packing up their suns and prodding sticks right now then they’ve already been here too long!” He snapped, spearing a helpless piece of roast pork. “I want you checking up on them, Warren. It’s your duty to make sure that our people feel safe, and I won't have these “priests” make them feel like they are suspect in their own homes.” He seemed to use to term priest loosely here.  
“Of course, Father,” Warren agreed obediently. 

Gil was less than enthused by the idea of having more interactions with those men. He was hoping to keep as much space between them and himself as possible, but it seemed that ever since Warren had opened that blasphemous book nothing had gone his way. Maybe that was the magick of it all. That he had been cursed with bad luck for the rest of his pointless and miserable little life. 

“You seem distracted Gilbert,” the Governor said, setting his fork down to refill his glass.

Gil’s eyes tore away from his plate to meet the steady gaze of the far too drunk to be this observant governor. He searched the room for an excuse since admitting that he and his companion were the ones harboring the secrets of the witch wasn’t a viable deterrent. 

“Ahh, that’s right, forgive me I’ve forgotten. It’s about that time of year, isn’t it?” the Governor asked, answering his own question. He leaned back in his seat, setting his glass down. “It was only a few years ago, it must still be fresh,” he said.

Gil felt a soft tug at his heartstrings as his mood swam softly to the bottom of the recesses of his memory. He’d forgotten as well. His mother had died two years ago near the equinox. He still had the letter that had brought him word of her passing folded up in the bottom of a box he kept tucked at the back of his bookshelf. Still covered in small water stains, edges rumpled and worn away from the constant folding and unfolding of the letter, hoping that he’d find a new message every time. 

Lydia Greaves had passed away in the spring from a bought of black lung that hadn’t escaped her with the thaw. Gil already hadn’t seen her in several years because she moved to his father’s home state near the sea. His father, the weak man he was, broke under the weight of her casket and escaped across the ocean to the Green Isles with a woman who poured beer at the tavern three blocks from their home. 

Young Gilbert had fallen silent and a dark storm had moved across his face. His eyes were fixated on the plate before him. 

Warren’s lips turned down in a soft frown as he put his hand gently on his friend's shoulder, but Gilbert shuttered and pulled away. Warren knew how close to his mother he had been and knew how harshly the memory of her absence hurt him. It was probably too much to hope that in the chaos of everything that was happening, he might forget what time of year it was.

Thanks to the governors poorly voiced observation, the dinner fell silent and it didn’t take long for Gilbert to excuse himself from the room. He left like a ghost, eyes fixated on the patterns of the carpet and the swirls of the hardwood beneath it as he made his way towards his room. On the top floor at the end of the hall was his room. It wasn’t as large as the young Master of the House’s was, but it was still a beautiful room. He’d been so excited when he first came to the manor to live alongside his companion, but now it seemed to hold nothing but miserably precious memories.

He didn’t realize that he’d sunken into the recesses of the couch in front of the small fireplace until he had to sit up at the sound of a knock on his door. Before Gilbert could bid him entry, Warren opened the door. He never did bother to wait. Then again, it was his house.

“You know how mad Mrs. Dotty will be if you skip out on her dessert,” Warren said with a soft smile as he set down some tea and a small slice of cake on the table before seating himself besides Gil. 

Gil felt a bit of relief when he felt Warren’s presence beside him, but that was quickly replaced by guilt. “I don’t really feel like sweets at the moment,” He muttered. 

“And I don’t really feel like getting an ear full from the cook about wastefulness,” He said, holding the plate towards Gil, but he wouldn’t take it. 

Warren sighed, setting the plate to the side and placing his hand on Gilbert’s knee. He leaned forward a bit to catch the poor boy’s downcast eyes. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t find words that hadn’t already been said over the last couple of years. So instead, he just gently squeezed Gilbert’s knee. “How about a story then, I’ll read to you,” he offered with a bit of a laugh and a small grin.

“I’m not a child anymore,” Gilbert said in retort. 

“I never said you were,” Warren said right back, standing up. “What’s the point of having a library filled with stories of daring adventure if they can’t be useful in moments like this,” He said. “I’ll be right back, I know just the one,” he added with a grin. Once Warren had made up his mind on something it was near impossible to stop him. It was like trying to stop the summer breeze. It was going to go where it fancied. 

“Warren,” Gil called to him as he made his way to the door. “You’re not going to stop me,” Warren replied. Finally, a soft smile broke at the corner of Gil’s lips. 

“Thank You.


	4. Chess Board

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will begin trying to update on a schedule! Updates for Full chapters will happen every Wednesday @ 12:00 JST (11:00pm EST) and if the chapter is long and needs to be split or if there is a extra seen at the end of the chapter, It will be posted Friday @12:00 JST (11pm EST)

Chapter 4: Chess Board

The weather was starting to warm. It was almost bearable to be outside these days. Kar was in the northern part of the Empire so winter liked to cling to the state and linger like a desperate illness. 

The city had started to catch wind of the men from the Temple wandering around the state. It had only been several weeks since their arrival and yet, somehow, they had already crept back towards the capital, pulling away from the rest of the state. When Gilbert caught news they were back in town he had gotten nervous, but Warren seemed calm as ever.

Warren finally stopped neglecting his proper duties as the assistant Governor. Thanks to his lackadaisical attitude the past month or so Warren had been forced to dive into his work to make up for the lost time. That meant that Gilbert spent most of his time running to and fro on behalf of his master. At least as Warren had gotten older he’d turned into a diligent young man and no longer required the constant nagging from Gil to get work done. 

It was a particularly busy day for Warren. His father had left with one of his advisors to visit a neighboring Governor to deal with some strife that had popped up on their borders between two towns of farmers, leaving Warren temporarily in charge of all local affairs. Since they do say that trouble often comes in pairs, Warren found himself dealing with a smuggler in their port not long after his father had left.

Gilbert had just arrived from the port inspectors office with the official report of what had been smuggled in. Illegal arms had been shipped in at the bottom of several boxes of imported fruit. 

The servant opened the door to the study and brought the papers over to Warren. “What did the inspector say?” He asked, his eyes still glued to the document in front of him. “It seemed like a rather small batch. Much too small to be a part of a large operation. He suspects it was probably a one time attempt,” He said as he placed the small report on the desk.

Warren sat back, frowning a bit. It didn’t really add up to him, but he didn’t have the authority to involve a bigger investigation. “This is going to have to wait until Father returns…” he muttered to himself. Pushing away from the desk like a man freeing himself from chains he stretched a bit. “I need to take a break, I feel like I’m going to melt into that desk,” he said, grabbing the coat that was draped over the back of the chair. “Let’s go into town for a bit,” he said, making his way towards the door. 

“Into town?” Gil asked, following behind him. “I just came back from town. You couldn’t have made this decision before I had to deal with the port inspector on my own?” He asked with a frown. The port inspector was a harsh and crude man who seemed to take an instant disliking to Gil simply because he worked for Warren and not Governor Salphus himself. 

“You know Gil, I’ve always been so grateful for what a studious and dependable aid you’ve been,” Warren said with a small grin.

“Don’t try and flatter me,” Gilbert grumbled back, following him out of the study. 

*____*

The two of them arrived in the city just a short while later. It was still cold, but the wind no longer whipped across the skin, turning it raw if you were outside too long. The snow had nearly melted, pathing the way for people to once again take to the streets of the fine capital city. With how bad the weather had been this winter, some shops were forced to close their doors entirely for a few weeks. It was nice to see them open and the city thriving again.

Gil had been hoping they’d be able to visit the fine goods store and see if they had his favorite coffee in, but it seemed that Warren was already on a mission. He should’ve known better. Wanting to go into the city meant wanting to see about a new book. If it weren’t so quaint, his master’s love for books would be a borderline unsettlingly obsession.

The cobblestone clicked beneath their feet as Warren strode confidently...right past the ally the specialty import shop was at the end of. Maybe he was wrong. That would be a first.

“Where are we headed?” Gilbert asked trotting a bit to catch up to Warren. He was older and taller and his strides were longer, so when he walked at such a determined pace sometimes it was hard for Gil to match it. “There’s a new Cafe at the end of the street I’ve been wanting to try.”

“A Cafe?” Gilbert asked curiously. Warren had never been particularly fond of such places, it was a bit odd to see him suddenly interested in one. It sounded quite nice though. The two of them hadn’t enjoyed a quiet outing together in what felt like a while. Gilbert smiled to himself at the thought of such a relaxing and enjoyable afternoon. Despite how much time he spent around Warren, his company was always so refreshing. 

As they reached the end of the street, Gilbert could see the little red brick building sandwiched between a women’s boutique and what looked like some sort of firm. The smell of freshly baked bread and brewed teas pleasantly flirted with each other as they got closer. However, with their approach a man at one of the outside tables stood, walking over to greet them. He was an attractive man, well dressed with delicate features. He was the type women swooned for when he merely passed. Gilbert almost tripped over the discovery of this unnecessary third wheel.

“Lord Salphus,” The man said, walking over to Warren to shake his hand. “What a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” He said. His voice was crisp and clear, pleasant to hear, and he smiled and moved with natural charm. 

“Lord Ross, I hope I wasn't too late.” Warren grasped his hand firmly in return. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” He said turning to Gilbert who was never very good at hiding his displeasure with a situation. “This is my Aid, Gilbert Greaves,” He said. Gil was quite often introduced to people, especially other Lords and Officials as Lord Warren Salphus’s Aid, but this time hearing it annoyed him a bit.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, I’m Lord Edwin Ross,” he said, offering his hand to Gilbert who shook it with all the fervor of a dying man. “Gilbert,” he said in return. Both men politely ignored the servant’s prickly attitude. 

“Well let’s not stand around, come have a seat, I’ll order some more tea,” he offered. Warren sat across from the other Lord and Gil sat by his side. 

“So is this your first time in Kar?” Warren asked. He spoke in a casual and natural manner as if the two of them had already formed some sort of friendship, but they had clearly both said this was their first time meeting in person. Gilbert had worked beside Warren long enough that he was quite aware of most of the Lords and Governors from surrounding states and even some of the farther ones, yet Lord Ross didn’t ring a bell. Was it possible he was from one of the Empire’s newly acquired Kingdoms and not from the Central States?

Lord Ross paid Gilbert little mind and nodded in response. “It is not, but it is the first time in a while. Things have changed quite a bit since the last time I was here,” he said. “Well, I hope you didn’t simply travel all this way to meet me. I don’t believe I’m a man worth making that sort of trek for,” Warren said with a small laugh, leaning back in his seat a bit.

Something changed in Lord Ross’s smile in response to that comment. Gilbert wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it made him wary of the man. “To the contrary! My Mistress and I believe quite the opposite,” He said. “But I’ll take your humility as a good sign that our faith is not misplaced,” he said. “In fact, I came here to bring you a special delivery on her behalf,” he said, reaching into his coat. The sweetness of his words coupled with the slyness of his tone made Gilbert worry that he was going to pull a knife on Warren, but those fears were silenced for the moment when he produced a small parcel, wrapped in a dark blue cloth.

Warren took the item, a familiar feeling in his hands as he unwrapped it a bit to see the corner of a book. “I suggest you not open that here,” Lord Ross warned with a small nod. Warren peeled back the cloth just a bit more, before once again wrapping it. “Tell your Mistress I am incredibly grateful for her generous gift,” He said, sliding the package away before Gilbert was able to see exactly what it was. Though despite not catching a good look at it, he had a haunting suspicion that it wasn’t a thrilling novel.

Lord Ross nodded in approval to Warren’s acceptance of the gift. “So I hear that the Governor is out of town to deal with a scuffle around the border? “ he asked.

“You must be quite astute to already be aware of that,” Warren said, though he was cautious with his words, they weren’t necessarily guarded. To Gilbert, it sounded like he wasn’t all that surprised to know that this Lord Ross kept a close ear to the ground. 

“I like to be aware of the movements of important pieces,” He said, much more nonchalantly then someone should’ve when referring to the ruler of a state as a game piece. He relaxed in his chair and took a sip of his coffee as if this were just an average kind of conversation for him. 

Gil’s eyes followed the conversation moving between the two men as they spoke. It was painfully obvious that something deeper was going on in this conversation, but they spoke with the secrecy akin to that of men who believed their lives hung on the careful selection of their words. The more they spoke of the conflict on the border and the inner workings of the city the more Gilbert grew uncomfortable. It only took one more question for the quiet servant to become unsettlingly aware of just why their conversation sounded so roundabout.

“And the Temple men, they’ve made their way back into the capital this morning, haven’t they?” Lord Ross asked, setting his cup down and catching Warren’s eyes. Gilbert shivered at the intensity of the look. A look that could’ve stopped the winter storms in their tracks. 

Warren never flinched. “I believe they have, but their movements are something you would be more aware of than I, isn’t that correct?” he asked, his pointed response piercing through that intense look. There was a small bit of surprise that rippled across his face, but he quickly drew it back in before leaning forward and smiling a bit. He seemed to concede defeat in their verbal game of chess. “I suppose you are correct, Lord Salphus,” He said. “In that case though, I do urge you to be careful. Even rats bite when they feel they’ve been cornered,” he said, standing from his seat.

“And you feel they’ve been cornered?” Warren asked.

Lord Ross smiled at them one more time. “Oh, I do.”


	5. Bitter Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra scene will be posted Friday @ 12 pm JST (Thursday 11 pm EST)

Gilbert could do nothing but watch as Lord Ross excused himself from the table and made his way down the street, disappearing amongst the crowd in a matter of mere moments.

He reluctantly turned to face Warren. It felt like they’d just sat down at a table with some sort of panther. “What was that all about?” He asked, picking up the cup of tea that sat in front of him. He’d forgotten it was there.

Warren sat back in his chair and leaned his head onto his hand, taking a moment to contemplate. “I’m… not quite sure…but I think it was a test,” he muttered to himself, looking past Gil, staring at the distant nothing as his mind used the focal point as an excuse to wander away from the table and follow Lord Ross.

“But do you know who he was? It seemed like the two of you knew each other quite well,” Gil insisted. He felt the need to pry now. It felt as though Warren was putting up a purposeful barrier between the two of them.

“We’ve written each other over the past few months, though I believe he probably knows quite a bit more about me then I know about him,” he muttered, his eyes retracing the man’s retreat over and over again, locked on the cobblestones and the crowds ahead, searching for something in the cracks in the street. 

“That’s not what I’m asking!” Gil insisted. “Do you know who he is?” He repeated.

“You mean do I know what he is?” Warren asked, his eyes finally breaking away and turning to his companion. They held a certain intensity that Gilbert couldn’t recall having seen before, especially not directed at him. It startled him a bit, and he, in turn, directed his gaze downwards. 

“I had my suspicions,” He said. “He’s never come out and directly said it, but I believe he just got as close to admitting it to an outsider as he ever will. That’s why we met in public, and I brought you with me. I knew he’d be more cautious if I did so, and in that case, he’d be less likely to do something.” 

“You brought me with you as some sort of shield?!” Gil snapped, raising his voice just enough that it drew the young Lord’s Ire. “You forget yourself, Gilbert,” he said in response. 

Such cold, harsh words only worked to upset Gilbert more. He was so tired of these flippant answers to such a dangerous situation. How could a man have so little care when playing with an open flame inside a house of straw. It was as if this absurd and irrational search to hold knowledge had caused him to completely forsake his better senses. He didn’t care about the consequences. He didn’t care that he could get his whole family tried, that he could get Gil hung as an accomplice! That...That he himself would suffer a fate worse than death at the hands of the Temple in an attempt to root out others.

Gil’s emotions got the better of him. He took a sharp breath, biting his lower lip to keep himself from saying something he’d regret even more. He stood, pushing the chair back as he did so. 

Warren sat up straighter. “Where are you going?” he asked. 

“I have other duties to perform for the household before I retire tonight.” The formality from him struck Warren like a lashing across the back and brought him back to his senses. He suddenly became acutely aware of his attitude. “Gil,” he said, catching the younger man’s hand before he had a chance to leave. Warren wanted to apologize. He’d gotten lost in thought and said something he shouldn’t have, he knew that. But it didn’t quite matter at this moment what he’d wanted to do. Gil pulled his hand free of Warren’s. “If you’ll excuse me, My Lord,” he said, before swiftly turning his back to the young assistant Governor and making his way towards the Manor home. 

His title had never tasted so bitter or sounded so coarse. From Gil’s lips, it was the deepest cutting insult he’d ever heard. Warren wanted to be upset for being spoken to that way, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew the depths of Gil’s compassion and loyalty, and he’d taken advantage of it.

A groan escaped him as he pushed his hands to his face, trying to rub away the shame of his actions. He felt a sinking in his heart he hadn’t felt in a long time, a feeling that only found him when his closet companion was truly, deeply upset. The worst part was that he had been the cause of unpleasant feeling now and deserved to feel it. 

He paid for the meal and left the small Cafe. He didn’t want to return back home quite yet, so he wondered amongst the people and the paths for a bit. When he was sure that no one was paying him any mind, he pulled the book that had been gifted to him out from his coat, unwrapping the cloth around it until a few theban letters poked out across the leather binding. He ran his finger across those letters, muttering unintelligible nonsense to himself.


	6. Bitter Tea Bonus

Night draped over the room like the most luxurious silk cover. A few candles lit, casting dancing flames across the room as the door handle turned. The delicate outlines of fine furniture swam in the comforting shadows. 

There was a rustle, movement under the covers when the door creaked open. A woman sat up in the bed, her long dark hair tumbling down her shoulders as she did. Her eyes still bright amongst the darkness. 

A smirk flashed across the face of the man who had entered the room as he made his way towards the woman. “Stunning,” He said, reaching out to take a small lock of her hair, turning it over between his fingers.

The woman was neither surprised nor moved by his actions. She leaned back against the headboard of the bed, turning her head just enough so that she could keep watch of him with tired eyes. “You’re back much later than I anticipated. Did you run into trouble?” She asked him. 

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” He assured her, letting her hair slip from his hand as he walked towards the dresser. He pulled a few rings from his fingers and a pocket watch from his coat pocket, setting them on the small oak tray. 

“And your trip?” She asked, covering her mouth as she yawned a bit.

“Fruitful,” he assured her, pulling the jacket from his shoulders and setting it aside. “His interest is genuine. There’s no mal intent in his search. As always, you were ever wise, giving him Rowena’s book. They share the same hunger for understanding. I’m sure her words and studies sang perfectly to him,” He said, pulling the silk tie loose of his neck. “He doesn’t seem to have yet made use of the knowledge though. I’m sure he will soon but. . .” He trailed off a bit as he began unbuttoning his shirt. 

“You sound less then certain,” The woman said.

“There’s a companion of his. He is very obviously aware of the knowledge inside the book, but he’s about as pleased at the idea as a rich man is of a beggar,” He commented. 

“And he will not forsake the companion?”

“Mmm, no, I’m afraid that doesn’t seem so. There’s something deeper to the two than simply a Lord and his servant. I suspect that unless the boy is willing to open his eyes as well, we might as well toss aside the Lord,” He said.

The woman leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “We will not,” She said firmly. “He has chosen his path, and we do not turn our backs on brothers and sisters who have opened their eyes and taken their first steps. We must show the other that we are not his enemy, nor are we the enemy of his Lord,” She said to him.

The man grabbed her hand. “Why do you close your eyes?” He asked, pulling her hand to his chest, forgoing the conversation. The woman huffed a bit. “Are you listening to me?” She asked. The answer was an obvious no as he pulled her hand between the folds of his shirt and against his heart. “Everything I am is thanks to you. Won’t you open your eyes and enjoy what you’ve created?” He asked.

The woman let out a small sigh, opening her eyes and looking up at him. With the candle’s too his back it was difficult to see his face. “Edwin I am tired, and you have work to do now,” She said.

She couldn’t see his expression, but she knew he was not going to let such a simple comment stop him. He leaned towards her, a knee on the bed as he hovered over her, supporting himself by her side with his free hand. “You’re so cruel Mistress,” He sang.


End file.
